Unintentional Meetings of Men
by Lisilgirl
Summary: "Erik saw the blue eyed man wherever he went." Erik and Charles seem to keep running into each other. [ErikxCharles] AU
1. Part I

_A/N: I'm obsessed with this couple. While there was a fine, defined relationship between the characters as played by Sir Ian McKellen and Sir Patrick Stewart, all of the interaction between James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender truly made me realize this great bromance. Had to write it. Had to._

_Disclaimer: I do not own or take credit for the creation of _Marvel's X-Men/First Class_. This is meant for entertainment use only._

**Warnings: Alternative Universe. Language. Man on Man relationship.**

* * *

XXX

Unintentional Meetings of Men

Part I

XXX

Erik saw the blue eyed man wherever he went. The man always wore a sharp suit (sometimes in navy or black) accentuating his long legs and pale fingers. His brown hair fell across his brilliant blue eyes. His lips were deep pink, as if he bit them continually. It was frustrating whenever the meetings happened.

* * *

The first time was in a bar.

Becoming drenched as he ran through the pouring rain, Erik stumbled into the first dry place he could think of: the prep college bar on the corner. He had to squeeze into the door, and it banged shut, nearly hitting a buzzed co-ed on the way out. The bar was smoky and musty, and the orange light didn't make it into the corners.

Usually, he wouldn't deem to brush elbows with these idiots. The students who inhabited this bar were mainly undergrads studying languages or literature or business or something that didn't require hours and hours late at night working on a graduate thesis. Erik, on the other hand, worked with chemicals and metals at the plant for his job for Klaus; he was barely passing school by the skin of his teeth.

He certainly had no spare time. And if he did, this would not have been the place he would have spent it.

The man turned to go, then heard the pounding of the rain. He remembered the way it seemed to slice through his overcoat like ice dumped straight to his neck. Grumpily, he stared at the freezing weather outside.

"Fuck." He turned back to the bar.

One drink couldn't hurt. Besides, he needed something to take the sharpness off his mental edges. Daring to go deeper into the smoky interior, he slipped past a few drunken males with sloppy grins on their faces, schooling his features into a quiet expression. There was a loud ruckus coming from the main open room, so Erik elbowed and fought to the last section of the bar, managing to throw up an elbow to signal the portly bartender.

He called for a good German beer. He fisted over a rumple couple of dollar bills.

"You got it!" the bar tender growled, meaty hands sweaty against the polished bar. He was back in less than a minute, leaving behind a wonderful beer. Erik nodded in approval. His hand closed around the cool glass.

"Hey!" The voice came right beside his ear. A warm body was pressed next to his.

Erik whipped around, and caught sight of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed vixen. Her face was young and slightly rounded, but the rosy hint on her cheeks brought out the sparkle in her eyes. Before he could respond, she began speaking.

"You're in my writing class with Professor McCoy, right?" Her hand fell onto his shoulder.

Erik honestly didn't know what to say. He'd never even heard of the class, let alone the professor.

The girl suddenly paled. "I am _so _sorry! I thought you a different friend," she stammered, in embarrassment, "Sorry about that; I always get carried away with talking to people in my classes!"

"No worries," Erik stated, forcing a smile.

Her smile widened into a beam of light. "My name is Raven," she said, "And if I run into you again, please forgive me! I'm here with my brother. What's your name?"

"Erik."

"You're adorable, Erik. See you later!"

With that, the college girl was gone, disappeared back into the masses. There wasn't even the scent of her perfume left. The man simply watched the spot she had vanished, amused at how it was if she had never existed. He wondered if maybe he could do that. Disappear.

The golden lights played on the clear glass, making the beer appear brighter than it really was. He ran a calloused hand through his still damp hair. The factory was going under. Klaus' business was going into the red after months of paying off government officials and threatening other local businessmen. Soon, Erik would be free. He wasn't sure how to deal with it.

Maybe this bar had been the reason. It was a sign he needed to cut ties. Klaus forced him to work long hours on hard, dangerous jobs, held back his paychecks weeks at sometimes, and continued to remind Erik that his mother was dead due to his inability. A fresh start was what he needed.

But how? Of all things, work was the most needed. It gave him money, and satisfaction. He loved working with the metals, especially the steel and iron. He hadn't told anyone about how he control the metal with his bare hands, not the tools Klaus provided. The metals gave in his hands like putty, and he could shape it in any way possible, from thin rods to nails to massive constructive beams.

He could focus on school, instead of skimming by. If he had more knowledge, he could start his own business. He could gain his own followers and workers. He could rent a machine shop. He could sell fine quality products for more than Klaus's shit scrap metal.

But he really needed a partner.

For a split second, he noticed the spot that Raven had disappeared from had opened clear across the room. _Of all things, it was like a sign_, he thought in amusement. He glanced that way, on a whim.

There was a man on a table.

His brown hair was wavy back over his pale face, and his mouth was opened into a triumphant laugh. Left hand in a fist thrown into the air, he seemed to be instructing a massive group of co-eds in front of him.

His smile was wide, perfect, and charismatic.

His face was memorable.

Erik blinked.

Erik didn't know what was going on at first. There were too many people screaming and chanting, and more were flocking to the area, like they were drawn to the man. Then he heard the drunken boys yelling, "Professor! Professor! Professor!"

A professor? At this bar?

Erik's eyebrows rose without a second thought. The man barely looked over 25, let alone the years required for a doctorate degree. What was he thinking, being here? Wasn't he supposed to be responsible?

The gap suddenly closed when four fraternity boys busted through the space, joining in the chant. The smell of sweat and alcohol returned in full force, clogging the air. Erik straightened his back, trying not to see over them. He turned back to his drink, feeling slightly strange.

He didn't want to think about it.

Erik withdrew from the bar, holding his woolen coat up to his neck and throat. He ducked his head, moving away from the large crowd. Try as he might, he couldn't stop a darting glance in the direction of the "professor".

Now the man was spreading his arms wide, nodding and mocking the tone most professors used in classes. His teeth were bared, his eyes —shocking blue—were open, twisting around the room, taking in the admiration. Erik stopped.

Then, those blue eyes locked on Erik's.

It felt as if lightning had struck. His mouth went dry.

Out of all the people, the man was looking at him. Erik felt defensive. What was he looking at? In disgust, heart pounding, he turned away to the entryway, shoving past a couple nearly sucking each other's face off.

He couldn't get the vision of those blue eyes out of his head, even when the rain drenched him to his bones.

* * *

The second time was at the dry cleaners.

Erik took time to make himself presentable. The feel of soft, silky, rough suits made him feel less complicated deep down, and ultimately, like a normal man of 28. When money was tight, his personal health took a dip, so his suits could be clean.

Erik's usual laundry day was on Tuesday, after his classes. He would walk home in determination, gather his carefully clothes and take them down to Fassbender's. It was the one shop in town that handled his suits, shirts, and slacks with extreme care. It was cheap and completely deserted at two o'clock in the afternoon.

Klaus called on Monday and threatened Erik to come into work; the younger man didn't refuse. Laundry was the last thing on his mind. He pulled a double, and arrived home in the early hours when nobody should be awake. The man unlocked his door, kicked off his shoes, and fell onto the couch, dead asleep.

The next morning, he had no respectable clothes for class. There were only t-shirts and sweats, his fitness clothes. Even the cardigans and button downs were in a rumpled heap in the closet. The bag of his three suits was hanging like a dead body from the clothing rail.

Blearily looking through sleep-ridden eyes, Erik cursed as loud as he possibly could in German. That done, he plucked the apartment keys from the nightstand.

It was only a five-minute walk. He didn't mind the cool morning air, despite the way frost sketched itself into twists and curls on shop windows. The gray bricks kept him contained, safe. The murals reminded him of when he was a child, his mother's art hanging above his head like a chandelier.

Fassbender's rose from the street like a squat cabbage in a garden; the walls were an odd shade of red, closer to orange, and the door was a bright green. The manager, Michael, was of Irish descent, and kept his heritage on display through wide portraits of his ancestors, landscapes of Dublin, and an unmistakable accent. Erik enjoyed the conversations he had with the insane, strict man. Eagerly, the man entered the store with his suits.

Instead of the store being deserted, a younger man was standing in front of the register, back towards Erik. The shaggy haired, elderly proprietor lifted his head from the counter, papery hands writing out thin numbers and letters. His brown eyes were welcoming.

"-Sign and date here."

The younger man said something under his breath that made Michael cackle, and say rather loudly, "Oh you'll find someone to give that to eventually."

What the?

Sensing something, Erik immediately sized up the clothes on the man. Well-fitted, herring-bone gray sweater, black trousers...thin hands...

Then the man said, "Thank you, good sir. I'll be back at four then." The man turned around, brown wavy hair falling into his blue eyes.

_Good God._

There was the man from the bar. The Professor. Instead of all teeth, feral and charismatic, he was subdued. His eyes were kind. There was no tie or suit restraining his spirit.

Erik barely had time to step to the side of the store to avoid a collision. He managed a quick "pardon me" before the customer nodded at him in thanks. The blue eyes were stressed, slightly panicked. He blew out of the store like a wild wind.

"Who's the new suit?" Erik asked, noticing himself watching the figure retreating across the street at a brisk clip.

He tore his eyes back to Michael. The elderly man was rubbing his gnarled hands together, gently picking up the papers. He shrugged noncommittally, reading off the paper, "'Charles Xavier'. He's from up atta college. Burrely found this place."

Daring to glance once more at the street, Erik nodded, placing his own clothes on the counter. "You own a quality establishment. I'm glad your reputation has been growing." He quickly pulled out his slightly wrinkled bills, setting them on the counter as Michael rummaged around in the back, cataloguing the papers. Erik came in enough with the same suits that he knew exactly the amount. It made for a very clean transaction.

"Oh yes," said the older man, "I keep hopin' that...more business comes in. Been slow."

Erik frowned. This was slightly disturbing. "How slow?"

There was another shrug. "A few people a day. I can always count on you, but more 'n more people forget. Or find someone new." Michael efficiently counted the money in his hands, bit the inside of his mouth, then settled it into the register.

"How are _you_ doing?" said Michael, "You didn't come in on your usual day." His left eye pulled into a wink. "You got a girl yet?"

A flash of blue eyes and bright red lips in his memory nearly made Erik blush.

And then he realized he had imagined Charles Xavier, a man he had seen twice in his life, by his side.

"No. No women. It was another shift at work."

Usually, his harsh dismissive tone would have put off any investigation into his private life. It was one trait Erik admired about himself. It didn't stop Michael from hemming and hahhing, rolling his eyes while saying, "If you don't find yourself a woman, find yourself _someone_. Don't getta be like me without any friends...or family, eh?"

"I'm fine on my own," Erik stated quietly. His eyes burned.

Michael pulled the rumpled suits over the worn wooden counter. "Just wait 'til you find the one. Then you'll know." He disappeared into the shadowy back, clearly finished talking.

Erik stood in the room. Alone. Blinking, and slightly shaking his head, he backed away.

But he couldn't the vision of Charles Xavier out of his head.

* * *

The third time was at the university.

Erik was settled on a bench outside the Engineering Building, a singular paper on a clipboard in front of him. A series of hypothetical formulas and chemical reactions within certain metals was written across the paper in sharp lines. The man blinked, jaw tightening slowly as he contemplated a different arrangement of the molecules.

Quickly, he drew a diagram of the metals' properties, black ink neatly drawing bonds and markers. This mid-term was going to kill him.

Erik's muscles cramped. Quickly, he straightened his neck, feeling the soft pops in the bones of his spine. His mid-back ached. Since his attention had been drawn to his sore body, he stood, gently setting the materials down on the hard bench. He moved his shoulders around in an arc. All the bones popped.

The bell rang with a shrill alarm. Erik moved his papers and pens to his briefcase as the door swung open, allowing hundreds of students to burst into the hallway.

There were so many dull tweeds and plaids that Erik felt sick. Self-consciously pulling his tailored jacket close around his middle, he took a breath, allowing all of the co-eds and underclassmen to stream by. It was usually quicker to simply let the sheep pass than trying to push through them. A few minutes rolled by of this as Erik kept a firm scowl in place to any who looked his way.

Eventually, the direction of traffic changed. The tall man waited outside the classroom longer than he would have, wondering how all these people could pass him and not care about the repetition of their lives. It was too structured, too slow. Erik needed a way out.

He'd been feeling this way recently, especially after meeting with his boss Klaus. After all he'd done for his job, Erik felt undervalued. He was kept down. There had to be another way to get what he rightfully deserved.

Erik took one step into the hall. He gazed casually up.

Recognition shot through him like lightning. There, at the end of the hallway talking to a young girl with fiery red hair, was the man. The Professor. Charles Xavier.

_I should have realized he'd be here at the school_, the logical part of his brain reasoned.

_Third time in a week, _cried his irrational side. _How can you stare and still not get caught?_

While he was inclined to agree more with the trap that was his mind, he found himself slowly gathering his things. He wasn't afraid of conversation with the man, but now, if he introduced himself, it would be quite...abrupt. And he couldn't interrupt a private conversation.

What would he even say? He couldn't think of anything.

His class was beginning. It was down the hallway on the left, directly across from the Professor. Erik stood a little straighter, squaring his shoulders. It might not be today that he finally met this mysterious man, but he could at least be civil.

The length of the hallway seemed to shorten drastically the closer Erik got to Xavier. He found his eyes being drawn to the frumpy looking professor's hands, calmly held at his temple. Those lips were moving, probably speaking about the finer details of whatever course he taught here.

Blue eyes swung up and met Erik's.

_This is where I should say something_, Erik thought suddenly. He nodded, and smirked, _Good morning, Mr. Xavier_.

Was there a slight nod, or had he imagined it? If anything, he was certain the man was saying, _Good day, Erik. When will we actually speak?_

Erik felt his shoulder shrug in any case, whether the conversation was in his mind or not. _Someday_.

Wondering why he was speaking to himself, the tall engineer opened the door to the classroom, striding in. It wasn't until he was sitting in his usual seat that he realized that the conversation, although short, seemed appropriate. He would speak to that man someday, and when that day came, he had a feeling his life would change.

_0_

_0_


	2. Part II

_A/N: There's this little issue of love. It's hard to get someone to admit to it. It's scary. It's hard. But it's worth it._

**Warnings: Male morning quickie sex. Language.**

* * *

XXX

Part II

XXX

Charles did know when it happened or how, but the smell of metal was always around.

At first, the feeling had been bitter. For Charles, it had been exciting to realize another mutant was in the vicinity, and that person was above a Class 5. There was raw talent and power that made him shiver with the potential.

The first time he distinctively remembered the smell was when he was walking across the quad at the college. Papers and folders had been stuffed into his briefcase, and he was trying to answer his phone with some amount of dexterity while holding a pen in his mouth when he stopped in his tracks.

Another man, a student in a dark coat and pressed slacks, not a professor, had wandered by. He was staring at the buildings through dark sunglasses. Of all the people this new man could have singled out, he singled out Charles, standing like an idiot. With a strange, concerned look, the new man had stopped and offered Charles help.

Strong, calloused hands had brushed his. Dark eyes stared straight into Charles'. There was a quirk in his upper lip.

It happened so fast. Within seconds, the man had vanished as quickly as he'd arrived. For a week, Charles had walked on that path at the same time each day, telling himself the only reason he was there was to thank the gentleman. Running a hand through his hair, he had waited, smiling at passing students. Unfortunately, that was not the _only_ reason.

The feeling of metal always seemed to remain with him; whether it was in his head or the man was following him, he really couldn't tell. But he didn't mind.

Charles couldn't find the mutant again. He was certain the man could manipulate metal, and he'd checked up on the metal working shops and degrees at the college, but to no avail. The man had disappeared, although the radius of his power continued around the school. As a professor, Charles realized his obsession couldn't, _shouldn't_, last.

Life resumed.

Then the thoughts began.

The first was at a bar.

The next was at the Laundromat.

The third time, it was an intentional stalking.

As if he'd decided to reveal himself, this man appeared three times in the same week. Charles was astonished that even changing his own schedule by a few hours, he'd run into the handsome, strangely quiet man. He wasn't complaining.

The last time he'd really seen him, Charles had been astonished when the man not only knew his name, but said good morning mentally. For some reason, he had decided to have an imaginary conversation with the Professor as he'd spoken with a student. Which he probably didn't know was possible. Which made Charles laugh after both conversations.

It became a game.

While the two men never really talked, they continually made eye contact as Charles finished teaching his genetics class and the clean cut man went into the mechanical engineering upper division course. Charles conveniently made himself forget that he'd looked up the class, so, just in case, he wouldn't slip if he ever spoke to Erik.

He decided to do some...research. Erik Lehnsher was from Germany, a transfer student from Dusseldorf. He was in his early thirties, passionate, and his mind could have been considered a broadcasting network. When the imagination conversations began, Charles was amused. Then inspired. He began to make eye contact. Sometimes, Charles would nod along with the conversation.

There became a routine. Erik would always nod his head in hello, and Charles would lift his chin back as his students swarmed around him, waiting for further answers. Then, one day, out of the blue, Charles realized he couldn't wait any longer. The semester was ending. Things had to be done.

* * *

"Hello. My name is Charles."

The well-dressed German man suddenly stopped, as if connecting with him for the first time. He only hesitated one moment before he cracked a wisp of a smile. His hand extended to grasp Charles's. There wasn't any hesitation.

"Erik. Erik Lensherr."

Charles suddenly felt the unconscious desire to tease this man about every moment they had spoken in his mind. But he couldn't do that. It was not quite appropriate. Strange, how close he felt already. As if destiny had wanted them to meet for some reason.

"Good morning, Erik," he nodded his head slightly, and pointed down the pathway, "I was on my way to the coffee stand. Would you care to join?"

In that moment, Erik's mind went wild. He was fighting attraction, the telepath noted with interest, but the German man didn't seem to realize it yet. On the forefront of the man's mind was disbelief. He didn't know why Charles was inviting him along. He mistrusted him. But he didn't want to. The man was drawn to Charles, just as Charles was drawn to him. Could it be too soon, though?

"I...yes," Erik said slowly, after a moment of hesitation. "I would like that. As long we talk about-" _how many conversations we've had in our heads_ "-our past few weeks together."

And there it was. Honesty. Strength. Caution. Erik wasn't about to hide the fact that they'd seen each other, but never said a word several times in the last two weeks. It was humorous and awkward. It was a story of how they met.

Charles grinned. He hadn't expected this. It was exciting. "Thank you for your time. I think we'll be great friends," Charles laughed slightly, "You're the first person to willing acknowledge seeing me outside of campus. Is my suit really that bad?"

The metal bender's laugh was more of a bark of surprised amusement. "It's rather atrocious, actually."

"Really? I thought it was distinguished."

"Atrocious."

Charles slapped a hand on Erik's shoulder good-naturedly. The contact zinged through Charles's hand. Their eyes met, somewhat abashed, but managing to recognize there might be something there. "We are going to have a strong relationship, my friend." _And that's not bad._

* * *

_Six Months Later_

* * *

The sunlight streaming through the blinds warmed Charles' body. Or maybe it was the body heat of the man snoring next to him. That was probably it.

The telepath shifted. He peeked under his eyelids.

There was Erik, mere inches away, bare chest angled toward the ceiling, one arm thrown across his eyes to block the sun. His soft hair, usually so neat, was wild and unmanageable, probably from when Charles' fingers had tugged it free last night. The blankets were curled around his groin and legs, twisted instead of draped around the two of them. His right arm was out, fingers splayed, as if they were subconsciously reaching for Charles.

Ah. Lazily, the younger man flopped closer. In his mind, he could feel Erik's conscious stirring.

Instead of letting him fall naturally to sleep or sending waves of exhaustion into his partner's brain to make him continue resting, Erik held himself up on an elbow and leaned into Erik's neck, slowly sucking on the tender skin. Fingers gently trailed across the sculpted abs, teasingly dipping below the covers to firmly grasp Erik's cock. Breathlessly laughing, Charles slowly rubbed up and down, setting a quickening pace while smiling at the man next to him.

Erik's mind rose up to greet Charles in waves of pleasure. Slowly, the metal-bender's body shifted to a more comfortable position, right arm hooking Charles closer. His body had definitely responded.

It took Erik a few minutes to respond verbally, and when he did, all he grunted was, "Charles..."

_Good morning, my friend_, Charles thought, taking a deep breath and letting his head drop onto Erik's chest comfortably. _Did I wake you?_

There was a flash of amusement across their minds, but Erik suddenly moved, quicker than Charles expected. Erik's huge body rolled on top of him, a leg splitting the telepath's legs under the covers. One broad hand held Charles's wrist while the other dragged up his bare side to his face. Charles sucked on the first two fingers sensually, as Erik grinned. Lips descended and sucked, while a strong tongue dove into his mouth. The free hand was worming its way down through the blankets, fingers deftly slipping inside Charles. The telepath loudly groaned into Erik's mouth, legs spreading further to allow him more access.

After a few minutes of fingering, Erik positioned himself in front of Charles, grinning affectionately. Erik's hips snapped suddenly. He sheathed himself inside of Charles, body stuttering for a moment. Giving a pant, Erik pulled back and slammed forward again, grunting. He repeated, mind beginning to layer into warm, dominant tones of ownership.

_ER-_"IK!" Charles barked, loving the way his own erection slid up Erik's abs. His mind and mouth combined into a mess of breathing and throbbing.

Riding each other's pleasure and bitter physical ache, the two came at the same time, Charles's insides clamping around Erik even as the bender's strong hands grasped the telepath's waist. The agony was amazing.

"Good God," Charles stated as Erik gently pulled away, "I tease, you deliver rather quickly."

Erik was rubbing the sticky liquid off his chest. He laid back down off to the side, arms extending behind his head in post-coitus relaxation. He looked rather smug. "Charles," he answered, just as seriously, "You jumped me in bed. I had to tell you who was in charge."

Laughing and checking the time on his fancy wristwatch, Charles said, "As if we hadn't spent all night debating that." He flicked the covers away, stretching his back as he stood. "Hopefully my students won't notice." He wandered towards the shower.

Charles thought about his classes. He had to teach three undergraduate programs over the day, but first, he needed to seek out Jean Grey. She had been having potentially crucial nightmares that he could help her work through, especially with therapy and mental blocks. And he had to look into starting his own school.

There was a rather loud mental appreciation of his ass. From Erik.

_What would I do without him?_ Charles asked himself while stepping into the tiled shower. The water began to graciously wash away his early morning surprise. Quite content and happy, the telepath sighed. In the six months that he'd been with Erik, nothing had ever made him work harder or take care of himself more. He wanted to be with the metal bender. Nobody else made him double his efforts to do what he wanted; nobody else cared for him as deeply.

_You know_, Erik's thoughts came loudly,_ Of all the things that have happened to me, you have been the best_.

Had he been broadcasting? Charles reigned in his buoyant mind. He never wanted Erik to feel like Charles affected his own decision-making. Ever. He scrubbed his hair harder. Excited.

Charles heard the bed creak and covers hit the floor in a small thud. Erik was grumbling as he rooted in the closet for freshly pressed clothes for the day, Charles was sure. The older man liked to have his clothes ready to slip into after the shower. He hated showering together, because of his scars. And here, he had readily admitted that he was involved with Charles.

All the thoughts ran through the telepath's head as he let the water wash over his shoulders. He couldn't imagine life without Erik. It hurt him to even think about leaving.

When had they gotten so close? The two hadn't ever talked about anything other than sleeping together. Slowly, they had simply gotten closer. It had been a near breaking point when Charles had explained his telepathy, and when Erik had voluntarily admitted that he could bend metal. Knowing they were similar had drawn them together like laces in a boot. They discussed Charles's idea for a school for hidden mutants. They discussed how Erik could run his own metal working shop.

Charles held his breath. _I love you._

He didn't know what he expected. Erik wasn't the type to follow up with a love confession, or to jump into the shower with him to ravish his body in thanks, or even to say it back. But Charles felt like his...partner? lover? needed to know.

When he heard nothing, Charles got out of the shower, dripping wet. He toweled off his long hair, wrapping the fluffy towel around his waist.

His heart was pounding by the time he got out into the main room. There was Erik, sitting on the edge of the bed in just a pair of trousers. He looked up at Charles, eyes blazing with light.

Oh great. Charles didn't know what to do. He waited.

Erik stood, his imposing figure so familiar and awe-inspiring at the same time. He moved towards Charles, ignoring the mess on the floor and the water dripping down the telepath's body. A smile broke out over his face.

"You don't sound like a professor, when you're nervous."

Charles sputtered, "What? You are mocking me, aren't you?"

Erik's warm hand pressed to Charles's cheek. "No. I like that you don't sound like a stuffy prude. I like to think that I mean as much to you as you mean to me." He leaned in, lips pressing chastely into the half-naked man's own lips.

"Does that mean-?"

_I want you by my side, _Erik thought firmly.

And Charles smiled wider than he ever had in his life. It shouldn't have surprised him. It did make his entire life solid and stable. It did make him remember the smell of metal in a bar so long ago. It made him remember the intense energy between them. It made him look forward to what would happen in the future.

Charles eyes flicked out to the clock. Fifteen minutes until class started. Erik followed his gaze. Gently, he pushed Charles towards their shared dresser. "What would Raven say? Get clothed. You can't teach that class naked."

Stretching, Charles coyly said, "I've got time, my friend."

Erik turned back, laughing. He advanced on Charles, managing to push him into the bed while murmuring, "I can't tell you to leave, can I?"

"Never."

* * *

Charles was nine minutes late to class.

He didn't mind the heckling his students gave him.

Erik had promised forever. It was worth a little heckling.

_0_

_0_


End file.
